Ficathon Entry: "The Admiral's Visit"
Title: The Admiral's Visit
Author: Ami Ven
Rating: PG
Character(s): Wedge, Tycho, Janson and Hobbie (along with, of course, the admiral)
Prompt: for tabbinivy, who asked for Wes, Wedge and Tycho (I added Hobbie), with the words "prank", "revenge" and "rules of engagement".
Setting: sometime during the X-Wing series, but not anywhere specific
Summary: Admiral Dosset is coming for an inspection- again- and the boys decide to do something about it.
The Admiral's Visit
“I don’t believe it!”
Wedge Antilles stared at the frozen hologram image of his (he hoped, temporary) commanding officer, Admiral Loc Dosset. The man was human, middle-aged, with gray hair and an expression that made him seem perpetually irate. To make matters worse, he had never even been a pilot- if there was anything Wedge disliked, it was desk-jockeys put in charge of pilots.
“Wedge?” Tycho Celchu, Wedge’s second-in-command, stuck his head into the office, frowning. “You okay in here?”
“Yeah,” the other man replied dully. “Get Janson and Hobbie in here, would you? I’ve got something I need all three of you to see.”
Tycho nodded and vanished, returning a moment with the last two members of their inner circle, Wes Janson and Hobbie Klivian. “What’s up?” Hobbie asked.
“This,” said Wedge. He hit the reset button on the holo-emitter, then play.
“To Commander Wedge Antilles, leader of Rogue Squadron,” said the image of Dosset. “There is to be a formal inspection of your squadron’s pilots and equipment, conducted by myself and my staff, taking place the day after tomorrow. See that you have improved the failings I noted at my last inspection.”
After the image vanished, the four were silent.
“He has got to be kidding,” said Tycho, a moment later. “Another inspection? We just had one yesterday.”
“And he found things wrong with everything,” added Janson. “What crawled up his exhaust port?”
“He’s a bureaucrat, Wes,” Tycho said. “I’d be surprised if he actually logged any star-hours at all before they put him in charge of us. As if pilots have nothing to do but make sure our X-Wings are shiny before we go and face down Death Stars.”
Hobbie frowned. “We’re not going to let him do this, are we?”
Wedge pushed himself up from where he had been leaning against his desk. “We may be New Republic pilots now, but I think it’s time for us to show the good admiral what Rebel pilots were known for.”
“You don’t mean…?” Janson began, but he was already smiling.
“Yes, Wes, I do,” said Wedge. “Boys, it’s time for some revenge.”
Tycho and Hobbie exchanged looks, then nodded. “Just tell us what to do, boss.”
*(break)*
“Red Leader to unit. Report.”
Wedge, in full dress uniform to receive the admiral’s shuttle, stood in the hallway outside the hangar. Since the four had agreed not to involve anyone else from their squadron, they were using Red designations, rather than their usual Rogue call-signs.
“Red Two, ready,” said Tycho.
“Red Three, looking forward to it already,” added Janson.
“Red Four, still here,” put in Hobbie.
“I copy,” said Wedge. “Begin phase one as soon as the admiral’s shuttle arrives. There will be no further communication to me until phase two. Red Leader out.”
Just then, his comlink beeped. “Commander Antilles, report to the main hangar.”
“That’s my cue,” Wedge muttered. He plastered a smile on his face and strode out into the hangar.
A large, gleaming white shuttle descended onto the hangar deck. From inside, emerged four military officers, three clearly guards, and one clearly an aide. Behind them came the admiral himself, already scowling.
“Admiral,” said Wedge, stepping forward. “Welcome to our station.”
“I sincerely hope you are more prepared for this inspection than you were for the last,” said Dosset.
“I think you’ll find we are, sir,” Wedge replied, suppressing his smile. “We’ll start with the squadron’s hangar. If you and your aide will follow me…”
He led them down a pristinely-white corridor, to the secondary hangar where Rogue Squadron’s X-Wings were kept.
“You’ll see, sir,” Wedge continued, “that we’ve implemented all the changes you’ve suggested. No more people out of uniform, and we’re following Starfighter Command regulations to the letter…”
Overhead, a mechanic working on one of the ships turned on his welder, showering the ground with sparks. It hissed loudly, so that Wedge had to shout to be heard over it, “And we’re increasing efficiency wherever we can, sir!”
“Yes, I can see that!” Dosset shouted back.
A dozen meters ahead, an X-Wing lifted off from the deck. It made half a turn before one of the engines popped alarmingly and began to issue dark smoke. Technicians and mechanics raced around, grabbing equipment and shouting orders.
Wedge kept his back to the activity. “So, you can see, sir, that since we’ve implemented your suggestions, we’ve got everything well under-”
“Wedge!” Janson hurried up beside him, looking unusually worried.
He’s really getting into this, Wedge thought, but he knew how much Janson enjoyed pranks.
“Ah, admiral,” said Wedge. “This is Wes Janson, one of my pilots.”
Janson snapped of a salute. “Sir,” he acknowledge, then said more softly, “Wedge, can I talk to you?”
“After I’ve finished with the admiral’s tour,” he replied.
Behind them, an alarm began wailing. People continued to rush about, and the floating X-Wing rocked sideways, one s-foil brushing the hangar wall.
“Get the astromech to set it down!” yelled Tycho’s voice above the commotion. “Set it down!”
He appeared a moment later, carrying a portable fire extinguisher. Several junior officers hurried to carry out his orders.
“Wedge,” said Janson again, more urgently.
Wedge grinned. “Yes, admiral, your orders have done wonders for our operations here. I can’t tell you how much more efficient we are around here…”
“Commander, what is going on?” Dosset demanded.
It was going perfectly, Wedge thought to himself. At this rate, the admiral would take the first departure back to headquarters, and give command of Rogue Squadron’s unit to somebody who’d actually seen the inside of a cockpit before.
Tycho had managed to maneuver the X-Wing back onto the deck, but one of its landing struts had crumpled. As Wedge watched, his second-in-command clambered up one s-foil to lean into the cockpit, reaching back down for Hobbie to hand him-
Wait, Hobbie?
Wedge grabbed Janson’s arm and hissed, “Wes, what is Hobbie doing in here? And why isn’t he wearing his horrible burn victim make-up?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Janson hissed back. “After you signed off, we got grabbed by Ackbar in the corridor. He had a bunch of stuff to tell Tycho, and then he sent Hobbie to-”
“Wes…”
“We didn’t plan any of this, Wedge!” Janson was beginning to sound a little panicky. “Hobbie and I were just going to set one of the welding units to overheat. We never set up anything with the X-Wings.”
“Then this is-?”
“-completely real.”
Wedge swore under his breath. “Wes, get the admiral out of here.”
“See here, Antilles,” Dosset began angrily, but Wedge interrupted.
“It’s for your own safety, sir. You’ve barely ever been near an X-Wing, and I’ll bet you’ve never had to deal with equipment that wasn’t brand-new, have you? Well, we used to be Rebel pilots, and there’s nothing we can’t handle. But we can’t do it with glorified civilians hanging around. Janson, get him out of here.”
“Yes, sir,” Janson replied.
*(break)*
It took more than two hours to get the hangar back into some semblance of order. The damaged X-Wing had been Inryi’s, and they had needed a good half-hour for Hobbie, aided by Janson when he returned, to calm her down again.
Finally, they sent the mechanics home, and let the clean-up crews in to begin their work. All four were tired, their once-neat uniforms streaked with soot and fire-suppressant.
Suddenly, Janson laughed.
The other three stared at him. “What are you laughing at?” Hobbie demanded.
“Wedge,” he answered. “Oh, was it sweet the way you told off that admiral, chief!”
“You did what?” asked Tycho. “Wedge…”
“I know, I know.”
“Yeah, well, good luck with the admiral,” Janson began, starting in the other direction.
Wedge grabbed the back of his jacket. “Don’t even think about it. You’re all coming with me.”
“Yes, sir,” said Hobbie, giving what Wedge presumed was intended as a salute, but looked more like half a wave. “What are the rules of engagement?”
He barely ducked the cleaning rags the other three threw at him.
“Commander Antilles!”
All four pilots snapped to attention, to see Dosset standing in the hangar doorway. At the sight of the older man’s crisp uniform, Wedge realized how terrible they all must look- Hobbie had burned a hole in his sleeve, Tycho’s face was smeared with engine grease, Janson’s hair stuck up at odd angles, and Wedge didn’t even remember where his dress jacket had gotten to.
“Sir?” he asked.
Dosset paused, looking around at the clean-up crews moving about the hangar. “Commander Antilles, I realize that most of the people under my command don’t like me. It’s something I’ve come to expect over the years. But you are the first one to actually do something about it.”
Wedge said nothing, and saw Janson and Hobbie glance sideways at each other.
“You did good work today, Antilles,” the admiral continued, then smiled at Wedge’s expression. “I expected some kind of prank when I got here- believe it or not, your squadron does have a reputation. What I wasn’t expecting was for you to prove just how important it is to leave squadrons like yours to do what works best for them.”
“Sir?” said Wedge, by now thoroughly confused.
Dosset drew himself up, and said more formally, “Commander Antilles, I expect regular reports from your squadron, but I will be too occupied to conduct any further inspections. Dismissed.”
When he had left, the four pilots simply stared at each other. Then slowly, Janson grinned. “Sith, we are good.”
THE END
Author: Ami Ven
Rating: PG
Character(s): Wedge, Tycho, Janson and Hobbie (along with, of course, the admiral)
Prompt: for tabbinivy, who asked for Wes, Wedge and Tycho (I added Hobbie), with the words "prank", "revenge" and "rules of engagement".
Setting: sometime during the X-Wing series, but not anywhere specific
Summary: Admiral Dosset is coming for an inspection- again- and the boys decide to do something about it.
The Admiral's Visit
“I don’t believe it!”
Wedge Antilles stared at the frozen hologram image of his (he hoped, temporary) commanding officer, Admiral Loc Dosset. The man was human, middle-aged, with gray hair and an expression that made him seem perpetually irate. To make matters worse, he had never even been a pilot- if there was anything Wedge disliked, it was desk-jockeys put in charge of pilots.
“Wedge?” Tycho Celchu, Wedge’s second-in-command, stuck his head into the office, frowning. “You okay in here?”
“Yeah,” the other man replied dully. “Get Janson and Hobbie in here, would you? I’ve got something I need all three of you to see.”
Tycho nodded and vanished, returning a moment with the last two members of their inner circle, Wes Janson and Hobbie Klivian. “What’s up?” Hobbie asked.
“This,” said Wedge. He hit the reset button on the holo-emitter, then play.
“To Commander Wedge Antilles, leader of Rogue Squadron,” said the image of Dosset. “There is to be a formal inspection of your squadron’s pilots and equipment, conducted by myself and my staff, taking place the day after tomorrow. See that you have improved the failings I noted at my last inspection.”
After the image vanished, the four were silent.
“He has got to be kidding,” said Tycho, a moment later. “Another inspection? We just had one yesterday.”
“And he found things wrong with everything,” added Janson. “What crawled up his exhaust port?”
“He’s a bureaucrat, Wes,” Tycho said. “I’d be surprised if he actually logged any star-hours at all before they put him in charge of us. As if pilots have nothing to do but make sure our X-Wings are shiny before we go and face down Death Stars.”
Hobbie frowned. “We’re not going to let him do this, are we?”
Wedge pushed himself up from where he had been leaning against his desk. “We may be New Republic pilots now, but I think it’s time for us to show the good admiral what Rebel pilots were known for.”
“You don’t mean…?” Janson began, but he was already smiling.
“Yes, Wes, I do,” said Wedge. “Boys, it’s time for some revenge.”
Tycho and Hobbie exchanged looks, then nodded. “Just tell us what to do, boss.”
*(break)*
“Red Leader to unit. Report.”
Wedge, in full dress uniform to receive the admiral’s shuttle, stood in the hallway outside the hangar. Since the four had agreed not to involve anyone else from their squadron, they were using Red designations, rather than their usual Rogue call-signs.
“Red Two, ready,” said Tycho.
“Red Three, looking forward to it already,” added Janson.
“Red Four, still here,” put in Hobbie.
“I copy,” said Wedge. “Begin phase one as soon as the admiral’s shuttle arrives. There will be no further communication to me until phase two. Red Leader out.”
Just then, his comlink beeped. “Commander Antilles, report to the main hangar.”
“That’s my cue,” Wedge muttered. He plastered a smile on his face and strode out into the hangar.
A large, gleaming white shuttle descended onto the hangar deck. From inside, emerged four military officers, three clearly guards, and one clearly an aide. Behind them came the admiral himself, already scowling.
“Admiral,” said Wedge, stepping forward. “Welcome to our station.”
“I sincerely hope you are more prepared for this inspection than you were for the last,” said Dosset.
“I think you’ll find we are, sir,” Wedge replied, suppressing his smile. “We’ll start with the squadron’s hangar. If you and your aide will follow me…”
He led them down a pristinely-white corridor, to the secondary hangar where Rogue Squadron’s X-Wings were kept.
“You’ll see, sir,” Wedge continued, “that we’ve implemented all the changes you’ve suggested. No more people out of uniform, and we’re following Starfighter Command regulations to the letter…”
Overhead, a mechanic working on one of the ships turned on his welder, showering the ground with sparks. It hissed loudly, so that Wedge had to shout to be heard over it, “And we’re increasing efficiency wherever we can, sir!”
“Yes, I can see that!” Dosset shouted back.
A dozen meters ahead, an X-Wing lifted off from the deck. It made half a turn before one of the engines popped alarmingly and began to issue dark smoke. Technicians and mechanics raced around, grabbing equipment and shouting orders.
Wedge kept his back to the activity. “So, you can see, sir, that since we’ve implemented your suggestions, we’ve got everything well under-”
“Wedge!” Janson hurried up beside him, looking unusually worried.
He’s really getting into this, Wedge thought, but he knew how much Janson enjoyed pranks.
“Ah, admiral,” said Wedge. “This is Wes Janson, one of my pilots.”
Janson snapped of a salute. “Sir,” he acknowledge, then said more softly, “Wedge, can I talk to you?”
“After I’ve finished with the admiral’s tour,” he replied.
Behind them, an alarm began wailing. People continued to rush about, and the floating X-Wing rocked sideways, one s-foil brushing the hangar wall.
“Get the astromech to set it down!” yelled Tycho’s voice above the commotion. “Set it down!”
He appeared a moment later, carrying a portable fire extinguisher. Several junior officers hurried to carry out his orders.
“Wedge,” said Janson again, more urgently.
Wedge grinned. “Yes, admiral, your orders have done wonders for our operations here. I can’t tell you how much more efficient we are around here…”
“Commander, what is going on?” Dosset demanded.
It was going perfectly, Wedge thought to himself. At this rate, the admiral would take the first departure back to headquarters, and give command of Rogue Squadron’s unit to somebody who’d actually seen the inside of a cockpit before.
Tycho had managed to maneuver the X-Wing back onto the deck, but one of its landing struts had crumpled. As Wedge watched, his second-in-command clambered up one s-foil to lean into the cockpit, reaching back down for Hobbie to hand him-
Wait, Hobbie?
Wedge grabbed Janson’s arm and hissed, “Wes, what is Hobbie doing in here? And why isn’t he wearing his horrible burn victim make-up?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Janson hissed back. “After you signed off, we got grabbed by Ackbar in the corridor. He had a bunch of stuff to tell Tycho, and then he sent Hobbie to-”
“Wes…”
“We didn’t plan any of this, Wedge!” Janson was beginning to sound a little panicky. “Hobbie and I were just going to set one of the welding units to overheat. We never set up anything with the X-Wings.”
“Then this is-?”
“-completely real.”
Wedge swore under his breath. “Wes, get the admiral out of here.”
“See here, Antilles,” Dosset began angrily, but Wedge interrupted.
“It’s for your own safety, sir. You’ve barely ever been near an X-Wing, and I’ll bet you’ve never had to deal with equipment that wasn’t brand-new, have you? Well, we used to be Rebel pilots, and there’s nothing we can’t handle. But we can’t do it with glorified civilians hanging around. Janson, get him out of here.”
“Yes, sir,” Janson replied.
*(break)*
It took more than two hours to get the hangar back into some semblance of order. The damaged X-Wing had been Inryi’s, and they had needed a good half-hour for Hobbie, aided by Janson when he returned, to calm her down again.
Finally, they sent the mechanics home, and let the clean-up crews in to begin their work. All four were tired, their once-neat uniforms streaked with soot and fire-suppressant.
Suddenly, Janson laughed.
The other three stared at him. “What are you laughing at?” Hobbie demanded.
“Wedge,” he answered. “Oh, was it sweet the way you told off that admiral, chief!”
“You did what?” asked Tycho. “Wedge…”
“I know, I know.”
“Yeah, well, good luck with the admiral,” Janson began, starting in the other direction.
Wedge grabbed the back of his jacket. “Don’t even think about it. You’re all coming with me.”
“Yes, sir,” said Hobbie, giving what Wedge presumed was intended as a salute, but looked more like half a wave. “What are the rules of engagement?”
He barely ducked the cleaning rags the other three threw at him.
“Commander Antilles!”
All four pilots snapped to attention, to see Dosset standing in the hangar doorway. At the sight of the older man’s crisp uniform, Wedge realized how terrible they all must look- Hobbie had burned a hole in his sleeve, Tycho’s face was smeared with engine grease, Janson’s hair stuck up at odd angles, and Wedge didn’t even remember where his dress jacket had gotten to.
“Sir?” he asked.
Dosset paused, looking around at the clean-up crews moving about the hangar. “Commander Antilles, I realize that most of the people under my command don’t like me. It’s something I’ve come to expect over the years. But you are the first one to actually do something about it.”
Wedge said nothing, and saw Janson and Hobbie glance sideways at each other.
“You did good work today, Antilles,” the admiral continued, then smiled at Wedge’s expression. “I expected some kind of prank when I got here- believe it or not, your squadron does have a reputation. What I wasn’t expecting was for you to prove just how important it is to leave squadrons like yours to do what works best for them.”
“Sir?” said Wedge, by now thoroughly confused.
Dosset drew himself up, and said more formally, “Commander Antilles, I expect regular reports from your squadron, but I will be too occupied to conduct any further inspections. Dismissed.”
When he had left, the four pilots simply stared at each other. Then slowly, Janson grinned. “Sith, we are good.”
THE END